Poem - Nina Murdoch

Song of the Slum-Woman

By Nina Murdoch

The baby and the rubbish-bin are huddled side by side,

I'm gettin' through the washin', and the yard is not too wide;

'N when you come to think of it, it doesn't seem quite square

For the baby 'n the rubbish-bin to sit together there.

Of course there's room enough for 'im to play upon the street

(Next door but one, a kid got crushed beneath an 'orse's feet);

'E sits quite good 'n quiet, 'n 'e never starts to whine

Till 'is eyes get sort of achy with the flappin' on the line.

There is 'Ospitals for Women, 'n there's Infants' 'Omes as well,

'N the Walker Convalescent you can rest in for a spell.

'It'd be a deal sight cheaper than the nurse, 'n bed, 'n ward

If the Council 'd provide us with a decent-sized backyard.

For there's Billy down with fever, 'n there's Janie got sore eyes,

'N 'Ector, though 'e's turned fifteen, 'e isn't any size.

Yet they fill us up with Charity in 'Ospitals 'n all!

Won't anybody tell 'em they're against a bloomin' wall?

If they'd start from the beginnin' like, with rentals on the square

'N pull these rotten houses down, 'n 'elp us get fresh air,

If they'd see we got conveniences not much, just what we need

Why they'd have both feet on sickness, 'fore it 'ad the chance to breed!

But the baby 'n the rubbish-bin are huddled side by side,

I'm gettin' through the washin', and the yard is not too wide.

There's the Parliament 'n Premier 'n the grand Lord Mayor, too

It kind o' sets you wond'rin' what they all intend to do!